The Sweetheart Rules

by Shirley Jump

  “Thanks, Greta,” he said, his gaze still on the tablet thing. “You’re good to go.”

  She hopped down off the table and eyed the young physician. “That’s it? No words of medical wisdom?”

  “Nope. Thanks for coming in today.” He tucked the tablet under his arm and headed for the door.

  “Doc?”

  He turned back. “Yes? Did you have a question?”

  “I do, indeed.” She marched over to him and eyed him again. Something was amiss, something she couldn’t put a finger on. “You’re looking a bit peaked yourself, Doc. You feeling okay?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Just a little… low on sleep.”

  “From your recent breakup with that girl. What was her name?”

  “Mrs. Winslow, I prefer not to discuss my personal life with my patients.”

  She harrumphed. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that keeping your feelings bottled up will make you sick?”

  He chuckled. “I assure you, I’m fine. A little tired, that’s all.” He leaned in and studied her. “Are you saying you miss me lecturing you about eating right and getting exercise?”

  “Of course I do. Next to Harold Twohig, it’s the highlight of my day.”

  That made Doc Harper laugh, and laugh hard. That was better, Greta decided. No one liked a sourpuss. Then he sobered, planted his feet wide and gave her his lecture face, staring past his glasses and down his nose at her. “Eat your vegetables. Get more exercise. And for Pete’s sake, quit worrying about other people’s health. Take care of your own first.”

  She reached up and patted his cheek. “That’s better. More like the crabby doc I know. And here’s my prescription for you: have a good time once in a while. Let loose. Go to Vegas, drink too much, and hook up with a showgirl. Remember, it’s not just ties that can strangle you.” She reached for her sweater and turned back just before leaving the room. “Oh, and adding a little bourbon to your coffee wouldn’t hurt one bit, either.”

  Doc Harper rolled his eyes and tsk-tsked. “You wouldn’t be telling your physician to get a little tipsy before he practices medicine, would you?”

  “Of course not.” Greta grinned. “That would be malpractice.”

  Twenty-one

  After the girls finally went to bed and stopped getting up for one more drink of water, one more potty visit, one more… anything, Mike sat at the kitchen table, nursing a beer that he didn’t really want.

  Over the years, he’d gotten damned good at making one beer last. He’d go out bar-hopping with his friends and by the end of the night, they were trashed and he was still working on his first beer. Even out with his friends, Mike did what he did best.

  Maintained control. Of his body, his emotions, and himself.

  No wonder he kept returning to Diana. She was just as in control as he was. He knew so little about her, even now. She kept her cards close to her chest, her heart under a tight lock. A part of him wanted to get her to loosen that lock, to let him in.

  But asking her to do that would mean he’d have to do the same. Expose his ugly past like a painting in a museum. A past even he didn’t like to look at.

  The amber liquid in the glass bottle seemed to wink back at him. Mike peeled the label off, a little at a time, watching the curls of paper tumble to the table. Each sliver reminded him of another kitchen table, another man, and a lot of other beers.

  Mike’s stomach churned and the scars on his back seemed to burn, as if they were still fresh.

  That was why he didn’t want to be a father. He’d married Jasmine in that whirlwind Vegas ceremony, thinking they were on the same page about having kids. She’d told him she didn’t want any, and he’d believed her when she said she was on birth control.

  Then Jenny came along, an accident, Jasmine said, and reassured him it would be fine, they’d be okay. One kid, no more. But he’d started staying away more and more, and the word divorce began coming up in conversations. Just when he was about to file, Jasmine had told him she was pregnant again. That was when he realized Jasmine thought children would trap him. In reality all the children did was make him want to run away.

  He loved his girls, he really did, and as soon as they were born, he couldn’t imagine life without them. But that didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t cut out to be a parent.

  Those were the nights when he sat up, nursing a beer while the darkness dropped over him, and he wondered whether he would ever be a good father or if he was doomed to repeat the childhood he knew.

  Do I have anotha grandma? Ellie had asked him earlier tonight. She’d come out for a glass of water and a cookie and as soon as he handed her the glass, the question had come out of her mouth, hitting him like a sucker punch.

  “Do I have anotha grandma? Cuz Mommy says I have two. Her mommy, and your mommy. But Grandma Maria lives real far away. I want one real close. Tucker, he’s my friend, he lives in that yellow house.” She’d pointed out the window at a neighbor’s a few doors away. “And his grandma lives right there, too. She makes him cookies and she takes him to the movies. I wanna go to the movies. If I had a grandma here, I could go.”

  Mike diverted the grandma question by promising Ellie they could go to the movies on Friday night. Next time, though, he was going to have to tell Ellie something.

  Something other than the truth.

  Mike hadn’t been back to see his mother for years. She lived just two hours north of here, and yet he had delayed the visit. Maybe delayed it too long.

  He still called her once a week, and deposited a chunk of his paycheck in her bank account every month, as if that could assuage his guilt for staying away. When he’d finally called her back today, she’d sounded the same as always, defeated by life. Then Ellie had started chattering in the background and Mike’s mother had asked, “Is that my granddaughters?” and Mike had lied.

  Lied. To his own mother. Because he didn’t want to deal with the questions that would come next. When can I see them? Why don’t you bring them over? Why haven’t you been home in years?

  He heard the longing in his mother’s voice. The regrets.

  Damn.

  Mike got to his feet, dumped the mostly untouched beer down the sink and watched it drain away. Then he grabbed his keys and headed next door. Because for the first time in his life, Mike had no idea what the hell to do next.

  • • •

  The night closed off the world around Diana a little at a time, dropping its deepening ebony blanket over the Gulf, the streets, then her yard. The fence blurred into the dark and disappeared. Birds called to each other, squirrels nestled in their tree homes, and nearby lights switched off one by one. She sat on the porch and wished the peaceful setting would fill her with peace, too.

  A hundred emotions tangled in her gut. Worry, hurt, disappointment, joy, all wrestled for prominence. She didn’t want to feel any of them. Didn’t want to feel anything.

  She knew how to get to that place of ennui. She closed her eyes, thought of the bottle in the cabinet, heard its whisper all the way out here. One sip, just one, it whispered to her, and it will all go away.

  One sip.

  Just one.

  Then she’d have peace. Quiet. Emptiness.

  “No,” Diana said aloud to those whispers, then said it again, stronger. “No.”

  She’d kept that bottle in the cabinet for fourteen years, a sort of personal test. Every time she passed the test, she told herself she’d conquered those demons. But then there were days, like today, when passing that test cost her everything she had.

  The alcohol would ease her worries now, but later, after she’d gotten sober and the liquor’s effects wore off, the troubles would rush in to fill the space, as fast as the tide, only stronger and more intense each time. It would make things worse, not better.

  When she’d gotten sober fourteen years ago, she’d taken up running, as a way to ease the stress and keep the demons at bay. Most days, pounding some miles out worked well. But today, with
the constant muddle of worries about Jackson, Sean, and Mike, no amount of exercise had seemed to help.

  She exhaled a deep breath and counted her blessings instead of her stresses. Sure, Jackson was going through a rough patch—I hate you was normal for kids to say to their moms at this age, right? Even if it stung like a bullet to her heart—he would be okay. She’d work something out with Sean, and Mike, well…

  That was something she’d deal with another day. Or just avoid Mike until he went to Alaska.

  Yeah, that was working well. She saw him every day, when he exchanged the girls for a hammer and went to work on the repairs. She hadn’t said more than a few words to him—by her choice, not for his lack of trying to strike up a conversation. She told herself the deep ache in her chest would ease once Mike Stark was far, far away again. Yeah. Maybe.

  Jackson had gone to a late showing of the new aliens-versus-humans–type movie with Eric and his family. She had two hours to herself, two hours to decompress, forget everything else, just chill. Maybe she’d take a nighttime dip in the pool. She could already feel the cool water rushing over her skin, easing the humidity, heat, and tension.

  A few minutes later, Diana had changed into a one-piece swimsuit and padded out to the lanai. She slipped into the water, swimming laps at a lazy pace, marveling at the way the underwater lights peppered the tiles with aqua diamonds.

  “You make that water look awfully tempting.”

  She jerked to a stop, then scrambled to stand in the shallow end. “Mike. Where… where did you come from?”

  “I rang your bell.” He thumbed toward the front of the house. “I was about to leave when you didn’t answer because I figured you might already be asleep, but then I heard the water splashing and came around back. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  She pressed a hand to her racing heart. He made her pulse roar, but not because he’d scared her. Because he stood there, tall and dark and handsome, and made her want things she knew she shouldn’t want. Things like a quick, hot fling. A mad rush of insanity. A frenzied night of sex that would make her forget her own name. That ache started again, stronger this time, and she couldn’t remember why she had stopped talking to him. Couldn’t, in fact, remember her own name.

  “You, uh, didn’t scare me.” She peered around him. “Where are the girls?”

  “Asleep. Luke and Olivia are staying over there while I’m gone. I needed to get out of the house. I just…” He shook his head and let out a low curse. “I don’t know. A lot of shit’s going through my head right now.”

  “Me too. That’s why I swim. It’s mindless, repetitive, and magic. It makes me forget.”

  “Forget what?”

  “Everything.” She felt naked, vulnerable, standing there soaking wet and clad in a simple V-necked one-piece. She knew the dark blue fabric had molded to her curves, outlined her breasts, her nipples, her belly. And she knew Mike noticed, too.

  “I could use that kind of magic,” he said quietly.

  “Then join me,” Diana said, and the heat rose in her belly, spread through her veins, had her picturing him in here, with her, but doing a whole lot of other things beside swimming.

  “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  The moment hung between them. Diana could send him away with a few words. Could end this before it even began, and stay on the path she had struggled to find when Mike came back to Rescue Bay. But she was tired, so tired, of being alone. Of doing the right thing. Of putting everyone else before herself, her own needs.

  Of being sensible.

  She wanted just a moment of that rush again, the fire she had found with Mike back in January. She wanted insanity and heat, and he was both. She wanted him, and she always had. Why keep fighting it?

  “You don’t need a swimsuit, Mike,” she said, her voice low and dark.

  He held her gaze for a long moment, and she felt that fiery rush building inside her, fueled by anticipation. She knew what was going to happen.

  And she wanted it, oh, how she wanted it.

  Without a word, he peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the lounge chair. Kicked off his shoes, brushed them to the side. He paused when he reached the waistband of his shorts, and caught her gaze again. She nodded. Yes, oh God, yes.

  His shorts dropped to the concrete floor. Then his boxers. He stood there, a magnificently built man with one hell of a hard-on, for a moment longer, then he slipped into the pool and crossed to her.

  Her pelvis tightened, her nipples peaked underneath the thin swimsuit fabric. She watched Mike’s approach, watched his eyes darken, watched his skin glisten under the moonlight.

  Holy hell and hotness. He is amazing.

  He settled his hands on her waist and drew her a little closer. Not close enough to touch chest to chest, but close enough to feel the heat of his body, rising like steam between them. “What do you want, Diana?”

  “I want”—you, I want all the things I’m so afraid to admit—“to forget.”

  He raised her chin until she was looking at him. His eyes were round and intense in the dim, intimate light. “If we do it right, you won’t forget anything.”

  She laughed and leaned into him, her wet head against his dry chest. The warm, humid night hung a heavy blanket over them, while the pale pool light glistened blue sparkles on the water, on their skin. “That sounds perfect.”

  His arms went around her, and he drew her close, then leaned down and kissed her. A sweet, tender, slow kiss, the kind that simmered on a back burner like an all-day chili and warmed her from the inside out. It was just a kiss, a long, thoughtful, wonderful kiss, but on a scale of one to a thousand, it ranked a thousand and one because it was tailor-made for her, for this moment.

  She lost track of time, lost track of everything but Mike and his mouth on hers. The simmer edged into a boil, and she reached down to curl her hand around his erection, using the water to ease her touch as she glided up and down.

  “You keep doing that,” he groaned into her hair, “and we’ll be done fast. Too damned fast.”

  “Well then let’s see if we can slow things down. Or… speed them up a bit.” Diana released him, backed up several steps, then crooked her finger and called Mike to her. He kept his gaze on hers the whole time he strode through the shallow water. Diana gave him a smile, then lowered herself to her knees and took his cock in her mouth.

  He groaned again, and tangled his hands in her hair. “Oh my God, Diana. You are… oh, hell… there is… no adjective… for how good you are.”

  She slid her mouth up and down him, cupping his balls with her free hand and holding the base of his penis with the other. She loved the taste of him, the way she felt like a sex goddess, kneeling in the middle of her pool giving this gorgeous man a blow job. And when he lifted her to her feet, smiled that smile she loved and said, “My turn,” her knees buckled with desire.

  He slid down each strap of her bathing suit, one agonizing side at a time, then tugged the wet fabric over her breasts, down to her belly, and then down her legs. He followed the bathing suit’s path with his mouth, kissing her shoulders, her breasts, the valley of her stomach, her hips, her thighs, with the same dark, sweet slowness of the earlier kiss.

  When she thought she couldn’t bear another second of waiting for him to take the edge off the fire burning inside her, he hoisted her onto the towel on the edge of the pool, then spread her legs and propped them against his shoulders. Her heart raced, her breath caught, and she held herself there, in delicious, suspended anticipation.

  Diana watched his dark hair move down to the space between her legs, and when his tongue slid across her clit, she gasped. So good, so amazing. He teased along her lips until she thought she would go mad, then slid his tongue inside her, and back out again, stroking, thrusting, doing incredible things with his mouth that she could barely describe. She arched against his mouth, seeking, needing, more, more of this, more release, more everything.

  He took his time, pausing to nibble an
d kiss her thighs, her belly, before returning his mouth to her clit. She ran her hands through his hair, writhing against his hot tongue. At the same time, he reached up and cupped her breasts, running his thumb against the tender nipples. When he did, it set off a tinderbox of fireworks deep inside her. His tongue below, coupled with his hands above—she couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, the train barreling through her body. The orgasm rushed over her, intense and swift, exploding so hard and fast that she couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

  When she came down again, Mike slid her off the towel and back into the pool with him. The cool water raised goosebumps along her skin, but it was a welcome sensation against the heat still pulsing in her body. “Bet you won’t look at swimming the same way again,” he said.

  “Hell, I won’t look at breathing the same way again.” She grinned, then kissed him, loving the taste of herself on his lips. Such an intimate thing, seeming to join them even more than what they had just been doing. She kissed him again, this time raising on her toes and sliding her tongue into his mouth. In seconds, the heat returned between them, sending their hands and mouths on a frenzied quest for more of each other.

  He pulled back and gave her a smile. “I don’t know about you, but it’s getting a little cold in the water, and I’d hate for that side effect to, uh… hamper things. Maybe it’s time to see what else we can christen.” She climbed out of the pool, naked and brazen, knowing full well Mike was behind her and watching every move of her ass. At the top of the stairs, she turned and grinned at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Better than a rerun of Star Trek.” She let out an indignant shriek, then tossed the towel at his chest. He caught it, then came up behind her in three quick strides. His erection pressed against her ass, hard, tempting. “Teasing me will only make me take longer, you know,” he said.